


One-Shot: Lion Baiting

by Omnibard



Series: Dragons, Princesses, and Other Fairytales [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, Merc!AU, Mercenaries, Mild Smut, Some Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 13:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16833535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnibard/pseuds/Omnibard
Summary: For my friend, Kat. <3Cor sometimes needs Aranea to give him something constructive to do...





	One-Shot: Lion Baiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crosschord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crosschord/gifts).



Aranea looked up from her tablet the moment Cor’s head poked through the tent flap. He’d not even finished straightening upright from the requisite ducking through the entrance before he began quietly unloading in a string of ice-cold staccato bullet points. So she knew his state of mind.

It wasn’t _often_ Cor had his feathers ruffled. Not much seemed to get under his skin, anymore, after all he’d been through. It was a rare treat _indeed_ to see him quite so _livid_.

Dare she even consider _pissed-off_?

“He is asking. Very specifically. And insistently. For me. To fucking _murder_ him. He knows it. And thinks he can push me. That somehow I will just let this go on. I will not. He’s _wrong_. I will kill him. With my hands.”

He didn’t look at her. He didn’t even look up from about six inches off the ground as he paced restlessly in front of her chair, giving her ample time and angles from which to admire his frame, and the energy his mood was adding to his gait. Here was the alpha predator, caged and angry about it. It was just as beautiful as she’d always imagined.

“I hope you’re not asking for permission,” She mused.

“I’m not,” He hissed, finally glaring at her, arresting her utterly with the steel in his ice-cold eyes, “I’d make it look like a convincing accident.”

“With your _hands_ ? I’m doubtful even _you_ could pull that off.”

“Are you _daring_ me, Nea?”

Gods, maybe. She might dare him to do a _lot_ of things if he kept on like this…

It was at that moment Cor noticed that the tension he’d come into the tent with wasn’t the same tension being echoed back at him, electric in the air. No. Aranea had _other_ things firmly in mind, not his bristling anger and dubious threats of imminent violence against another of her subordinates. But that was why he’d come in here, after all: so she could tell him or otherwise convince him not to do it.

Not that he _often_ needed someone else to act as his conscience or better-judgement (that was, after all, one of _his primary duties_ in the Drakes), but in the end, he knew that in a fit of temper, he could still be relied upon to defer to the _chain of command_ out of habit, if necessary.

Ignoring the plainly disappointed look hurriedly and sloppily covered up with a smug grin on her face, Cor went and threw himself somewhat gracelessly into the chair across from hers. He did not protest when she extended the left leg crossed over her right knee to tease a line with her toe up the inside of his right calf to the inside of his knee, knowing she’d go further.

She’d go all the way up.

“I see you’re acting entirely your age,” He observed coldly.

“I figured _someone_ around here should, since you stormed in here all of _sixteen_ , old man.”

Despite his best efforts, he felt his lips curl into a snarl, baring his teeth, “I’m not kidding about ‘Meat.”

“You’re not serious about him, either. If you were, it’d be done already. You don’t _really_ want me to settle it for you, either.”

“No.” He watched her, reading her body language, completely aware of how the tension in the air, crackling, seeped into his guts while her foot teased between his thighs. He grabbed her ankle and moved it to the other side of his knee.

“No.” She agreed, insufferably smug and beautiful in her youth and the familiarity of casual command.

“You came in here so I could give you something constructive to do with all your pent up aggression,” She said, climbing to her feet and watching the slowly stoking heat in his eyes drink in her movement, “Didn’t you.”

“Fucking is _your_ answer, Nea, not mine.” He returned dryly with a roll of his eyes.

“And here you came to _me_ for answers, Cor.”

It was delightful to see that flutter of irritation cross his features. Better still that he had no sharp retort.

“Come on,” She beckoned, “Trust me.”

He grunted, “If I didn’t, I’d already be gone.”

She knew it was true. He’d joined-- _followed her_ \-- when she beckoned. Well. After _lots_ of beckoning and cajoling.

 _Gods_ it’d been such a major, tedious, long-suffering, slow-lava-flow, _pain in the ass_ to get him here.

He’d made it worth it, though. Over and over.

The sex was great too. His dogged, die-hard work ethic showed through in just about _everything_ he did.

“Come _on_.”

When he climbed to his feet, there was a tension in his shoulders she couldn’t discern properly as residual anger or resigned obedience. That was the danger, in this illicit part of their relationship. She was his boss, the leader of the Highwind Drakes. Her decisions put him and the others in danger to earn them all their living. While he stayed on with the company, he obeyed her orders.

And Cor Leonis was _so good_ at obeying orders once he decided somebody had earned the privilege to issue them. A bit like Jasper, really.

But Jasper had never found his way into her bed.

She remembered it wasn’t on Cor’s initiative that he’d ended up there. He’d come in, they’d talked, she’d touched him, he didn’t resist… and just kept on not resisting until she’d grabbed him by the collar to haul him to the bedroll where he’d quietly undressed himself, helped her undress, and promptly, skillfully set fire under every inch of her skin with his mouth and hands until her nails clawed down his back and she whimpered his name into his neck over and over while her hips bucked frantically against his, legs wrapped around him while he shuddered deep inside her, sheathed to the hilt.

It was troubling, to think in dark, doubtful corners of her mind, that the more private parts of their relationship existed exclusively because he thought it was part of their _professional_ relationship. As if the sex was just another of his duties to her as commander of the Drakes.

He didn’t love her, she knew. It didn’t _really_ bother her. She wasn’t sure she’d know what to do with the love of a man like Cor, outside of what she was already doing with him without it.

She didn’t need him to love her to read his approach or time the raise of her arms to come around his neck while his reached down to grab hold of her hips and ass and lift her up so he he could seat her on the edge of her worktable and she could drag him down into a hungry kiss. She didn’t need his heart to thrill at how urgently and efficiently his hands worked open her pants and started dragging them down her hips, calloused fingers leaving fire and gooseflesh in their wake while the sharp fangs of his eye-teeth caught the flesh of her lower lip so he could suckle while she shivered.

He didn’t have to love her when he sank to his knees in front of her, letting her pants fall down past her ankles over her bare feet, something dark, and knowing, and _hungry_ in his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Got questions? Want to talk about it? [Here's your mic! ](https://mtraki.tumblr.com/ask)


End file.
